


Death Becomes Her

by Wanderlast



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderlast/pseuds/Wanderlast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For she is Death, and death has very few friends and so very many victims. A look at Aerith and her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Becomes Her

i. _the young know so little (and yet too much)_

The realization came to her that she was, if not death itself, a being of death when she was still young and full of whimsical wonder.

Perhaps it was watching that little ant writhe about the ground, utterly helpless, her hair swinging back and forth (bound harshly into pigtails that her tiny fat fingers struggled against) as she simply crouched there--pushing down upon it like some tiny god. Simply crouched there and watched with (what she now sees as excrutiatingly morbid) fascination.

Perhaps it was because every single time her pretty new white mary-janes that her 'mother' called utterly _sweet_ and _precious_ touched the ground below, screams echoed in her ears, whispering queer little thoughts into her mind.

Perhaps.

ii. _flower girls_

He asks her why she does what she does, as she plays around with the flower beds near her adoptive home humming some sweet old lullaby and plucking the fresh blooms from the ground in all of their magnificent colors.

She cannot think of an answer at the time that would possibly make him feel better, so she simply hums a little louder, tugging at the plants as they cling to the Earth desperately--hoping to fight against her firm grasp. She is reminded of all of the souls in Midgar as they cling to existence and their own little slice of happiness and leaves the rather stubborn bloom (a crimson red rose--no smell, but pleasant to look at) alone.

The sun rises and she wakes up the next morning to find the rose withered anyway and the inevitability of it all hits her once more.

 

iii. _to those who fight further_

She calls herself death and puts her play-mask on, fierce and unyielding as she splits the earth and summons heaven and hell's wrath upon those who cross her, before it all melts away and she is left there, standing for silent moments with her, her, _her_ in full view.

She sews it all back up again with a wink, a smile and a wave of her hand--saying goodbye to what she has just destroyed.

And like clockwork it continues.

 

iv. _happiness, or something like it_

He promised to protect her and, so far, he has kept that promise with startling regularity and now, now it is her turn. Perhaps it is that small shining piece of light--of optimism she sees in his eyes that has still yet to be extinguished--that small piece of childhood yet to have been ripped out of him.

She wants to see him so very, very happy, she tells herself as she kisses his eyelids lightly and with one last look filled with _something_ ~~(longinglustlimits _love?_ )~~ leaves.

For she is Death, and death has very few friends and so very many victims.

 

v. _the one thing stronger than love_

She never could have dreamed of this happening to her, but she accepts this--it is the right thing, she says. He will be safe, she says.

Eyes shut and lips formed into a peaceful smile, she falls into his arms and into the water.

_(dragging that last piece of light--of him--with her, as it shines brightly into the twilight)_


End file.
